


Like the stripes on the tiger

by Beweme



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Relationships, Implied Suicide Attempt, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Oneshot, Regrets, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, but luckily he has wilson, guilt complex, maxwell is not ok, suicidal behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:15:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26248555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beweme/pseuds/Beweme
Summary: Maxwell disappears in middle of the night, and Wilson finds him outside of their camp, and senses that something is terribly wrong.
Relationships: Maxwell/Wilson (Don't Starve)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 57





	Like the stripes on the tiger

**Author's Note:**

> I went to see my therapist yesterday and talked about some heavy shit and because I am whiny lil bitch who cannot control their feelings I wrote this kind of venting fic. My poor boys need help and love.
> 
> WARNINGS: This fic has blood, self-harm and suicidal elements in it.

Wilson woke up to the cold that had creeped under his blanked while he slept, and instantly knew something wasn't right. His intuition had evolved in the Constant under the pressure of always being in mortal danger, so he more or less had to learn to read the room quickly lest he wanted to die.

The air inside of the tent felt empty and void. He moved his arm, finding nothing but empty space next to him, and sat up to search the taller man with his eyes, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Wilson knitted his eyebrows. Where would Maxwell need to go in the middle of the night? That was unusual, even if he had problems with sleep. The scientist made sure he was decent, even if he knew there wasn't anyone else besides him and his partner, he was still a gentleman, he couldn't help himself.

Maxwell wasn't anywhere on sight outside the tent either, but Wilson knew he couldn't be far. He contemplated calling his name for a second, but decided against it; He didn't want all the possible monsters lurking in the dark to hear him, and if Maxwell had left without alerting him, he probably did it on purpose so it was unlikely he was going to answer the call anyway.

Wilson snatched a torch and headed into the dark. It was true that Maxwell didn't always share his secrets with him, like a true magician that he was, but there was a fine line between the normal secrets that just were not his business plain and simple, and the dark, scary secrets that Wilson couldn't help but notice were bothering his older friend.

And Maxwell was his friend, after all the time they had lived together in wilderness of the Constant, and Wilson wasn't really someone to leave his friends in trouble when there clearly was something wrong.

It wasn't that Maxwell was being suspicious per se (Well, he was always a little bit suspicious, it was probably engraved in his very nature), but he hadn't been himself in the last few weeks. It started with the little things, like staring at the distance a little bit too long, and then it moved into some bigger, more worrisome things like getting suddenly very angry of little touches, even when accidental, refusing to let Wilson lay a finger on him anymore, and never undressing when Wilson could see.

They had been here together for quite some time now, and were both very lonely and sometimes Maxwell would let Wilson cuddle him when they slept, and although the older man had retained some type of modesty that Wilson had thrown out of the Window ages ago, he wasn't really being too strict about having his own privacy, because for the love of anything good in this word, there wasn't any real privacy out here. So the sudden change didn't go unnoticed by the scientist, and it worried him.

Wilson stopped when he heard something. A heavy breathing, somewhere nearby. He turned his head, until he spotted a dim light beneath the bushes and trees. He opened his mouth to call Maxwell, but didn't, instead taking quiet steps towards the light, almost tip-toeing forward to avoid being seen.

Wilson peeked behind the trees, and was surprised to see the other man sitting on the ground, grasping a thick piece of cloth on his wrist, eyes pressed tightly close and hissing heavy, deep breaths between his teeth. Wilson dropped the torch next to the miner hat that laid on the ground, creating a circle of light around them, and he knelt before the magician.

"Maxwell? What happened, are you hurt?" he asked, warily, and the other man shot his head up, staring at Wilson with frightened, confused eyes. Wilson swallowed. Maxwell had that weird look in his eyes, the look that told him that the man wasn't quite there with him right now. Wilson himself was probably looking like that much more often than Maxwell, but it only made this so much more concerning.

Maxwell lowered his eyes, his brows drawing together in a frown. He didn't give Wilson an answer.

Wilson lowered his eyes on the cloth that was wrapped over the other man's lower arm. Maxwell was pressing his free arm over it, almost protectively.

"...Maxwell? Did you got bitten by something?"

Maxwell turned his head away. Wilson scratched his neck nervously, he didn't like the looks of this, and he wasn't stupid either. He knew that something was wrong, and this, this only made the alarm bells ring louder in his head.

Gently he placed his own hand on Maxwell's and yanked it softly, but Maxwell only tightened his grip, not willing to let go of the cloth.

"Max? Do you want to come back to the camp with me? It's cold out here. Aren't you cold? That suit is awfully thin. It would be better to spend the night safely and comfortably in the tent, don't you agree?" he tried to gently coax his friend to give him some sort of response, all the while carefully trying to remove his hand from the cloth. Wilson had came to the conclusion that when Maxwell's sanity was decreasing, it was best to treat him like an over-grown child - carefully and softly, but as straight-forward as possible. 

Suddenly Maxwell let out a noise that sounded like a dry sob. Wilson flinched from the sudden break of the silence. Maxwell hung his head down, starting to lean on Wilson, who wasn't really sure how to respond - Maxwell wasn't very touchy person in general. It was rare to get any type of contact from him, let alone anything kind and soft like this. But Wilson didn't move away when the other man's head leaned on his shoulder, only slightly tensing up from the touch.

Maxwell was mumbling something quietly, but Wilson couldn't make out what he was trying to say. Then again, if his sanity was hanging low enough, maybe he wasn't even speaking anything understandable anyway.

"Yeah, yeah... Let's get up, head back to the camp, okay?" Wilson gave up trying to get Maxwell let go of the cloth, and instead hoisted the other man up from the ground with him. Maxwell made a whiny noise, but didn't resist when Wilson grabbed the minerhat and guided them towards their camp.

In there he adjusted Maxwell on the bed, trying to push him down, but Maxwell was stubbornly trying to sat up, still mumbling something under his breath and clasping the clothing over his arm. Wilson stopped pushing the man down and instead took the water bowl and some honey poultice from the chest and grabbed Maxwell's wrist, prying it away. Maxwell grunted displeasedly and tried to press his hand back over the piece of cloth, suddenly almost panicky, but Wilson was faster and with a quick move rolled it away from his arm.

Instantly his insides grew cold. Maxwell had a deep, crimson cut running through his wrist, still bleeding a little.

"What happened?" the scientist gasped, pulling the cuff of the sleeve out of the way to inspect the damage, but stopped dead on his tracks. There were more. Older, fainter scars. Maxwell made a sound and pulled his cuff back down and shook his head.

"Don't, I-"

Wilson didn't listen, instead he grasped Maxwell's jacket and started to undress him. The older man tried to give him some resistance, but Wilson wasn't hearing him, too shocked, too afraid to see what laid underneath, only feeling the coldness running through his veins.

"Wilson, _don't!_ " Maxwell objected weakly, but for no avail. After the jacket went the shirt and gloves, until his upper body was naked and in Wilson's sight. And Wilson didn't know what to think about what he was seeing.

There were scars. A lot of them, running in uneven lines all over Maxwell's arms, like the stripes on the tiger, from wrist to shoulder. Wilson stared. Some were old, almost faded, partly covered up by newer cuts, some better healed than the others.

"...Maxwell?" Wilson swallowed "What is this?"

Maxwell held his arms against his chest, trying to uselessly hide them by wrapping them against one another, but he couldn't get away from Wilson's stare. He looked down, saying something in silent voice that was barely audible.

"What? Max you gotta speak up, I can't hear you" Wilson told him, anxiously holding his arms out to almost touch the other man, but not quite. He was scared to touch that cut, marked body, in fear of hurting his friend.

"613th" Maxwell muttered, a joyless chuckle accompanied his words, as he rose his finger to point at the newest injury that pushed the red liquid out of his skin "that was yesterday."

"W-what? Max, I don't understand. What happened yesterday? You have to tell me" Wilson got some bite in his voice now, firmly grasping Maxwell by his shoulders, glaring at his eyes, even though the man wasn't meeting his gaze. He couldn't understand why. He didn't want to understand why, but he had to, he had to know what happened, why this had happened - why it had been happening.

"You died." Maxwell breathed the last word out barely louder than a whisper. Wilson blinked. He still didn't understand. Yes, he died yesterday, when he had gotten a little bit too brave for his own good and tried to attack a beefalo that wasn't as far from it's herd as he had originally thought. That was a mistake from his part, a poor planning, but it had nothing to do with Maxwell.

"Yeah, I did die. But I am back again, aren't I? Safe and sound, in one piece and healthy as a horse. I'm okay, I don't understand what-"

"612th. Two months ago." Maxwell's finger moved to the other cut, older but still scabbed, still not healed all the way "When you weren't fast enough to escape the Spider Queen."

Maxwell's finger rose higher, over the other scar "611th. Last winter. Hypothermia. 610th. Treeguard. 609th-"

Wilson watched, quietly, his eyes following the slender finger that moved over the skin, from one line to another, each one sending a stinging sensation of guilt and worry in his heart. He couldn't bear to hear anymore, he didn't _want to_. He took Maxwell by his wrists and pulled them down on his lap.

"Have you been doing this _every time_ I have died?" he didn't want to hear the answer, not really. He knew that Maxwell would give him a nod, would confirm his fear that he had somehow caused this. Then, after a long, uncomfortable, suffocating silence, Maxwell gave him a small nod. Fuck.

Wilson felt his throat getting tighter, it was suddenly hard to swallow.

"Why?"

Maxwell rose his eyes, a faintest, dreariest smile hovering on his face.

"It's the least I can do. I can't, I...I'm afraid to die. I tried to, but I couldn't. I was scared. I was scared of dying, I couldn't... But _this_ " Maxwell rose one of his arm up, Wilson's hand still around his wrist, as if to show it to him again "-This is something I can do for you. For each time you have died. To make up for what I've done."

Maxwell sounded eerily proud of himself. As if he genuinely thought he was doing Wilson a favor, making him happy this way. As if Wilson wanted him to suffer like this. No, Wilson didn't, he would never want this for anyone. It hurt to see Maxwell's dark eyes, still unfocused and delirious, glistening in the dim light of the lantern that was placed on the entrance of the tent. Maxwell had an unfitting triumph expression, the man looked like as if he had won something. That distraught smile on his lips, breathing heavily under the stress of situation, staring Wilson deep in his eyes, waiting to be praised for what he had done.

Wilson swallowed a pressuring feeling that had started to build inside his chest, and let go of Maxwell, instead placing his hands on his cheeks. Maxwell flinched, rising his eyes to meet Wilsons. Wilson shook his head, scared, disappointed and worried, but most of all sad.

"I don't want this." he whispered, and Maxwell's face fell, the little ounce of misplaced glee fading away. The older man looked down, but Wilson kept his head up, gently rubbing his thumb over his cheek, tears starting to itch the corner of his eyes.

"Don't, Max. Don't do this... Please."

Maxwell moved his eyes on Wilson, feeling lost and unsure, ashamed of himself, of how weak and worthless he was. He hated to see Wilson like this, hated to see his whiskey-colored eyes so full of fear and hurt. Maxwell opened his mouth, but no voice came out. He just stared, not able to understand what he was expected to do now. 

Didn't Wilson realize that Maxwell was doing this for him? Maxwell deserved this, he deserved to suffer. He deserved to be hurt for every time he had hurt Wilson. Because Wilson was too good, too kind. Wilson was something too precious and rare to be touched by something as foul and disgusting as him, Wilson was too amazing to be wasted away here, and yet he was, because of Maxwell. Because he was selfish and horrible, terrible person. He did this to make them even. Yet he knew he couldn't, he could never be able to repay Wilson the kindness the other man showed him.

So why? Why didn't Wilson understand? Why couldn't he see that Maxwell was only doing this, because it was the only thing he could do? He wasn't worth much anything, he had nothing to give, nothing to offer. He just wanted to face his punishment, he wanted to finally be served the cold plate of revenge he deserved. 

"I'm sorry... I, I didn't want to upset you, I tried to keep it secret so you wouldn't be worried for nothing..."

Wilson bit his lip, shaking his head furiously.

"This is not 'nothing', Maxwell! Look at you, how long has this been going on? I haven't even died this many times!" Wilson's voice was hoarse, hard. He couldn't fathom the hurt Maxwell must've gone through, he couldn't understand how on earth had he let this happen to Maxwell, how didn't he see this was going on?

"You have... Before you freed me. Before this." Maxwell whispered, sounding mostly confused. Wilson looked deep into his eyes. He should've known that Maxwell felt guilty, that deep inside his past was eating him alive, little by little. But to do this? No, not his. Never this.

Wilson sniffed, forcing himself to get a grip and firmly taking a clean cloth and dipping it on the water bowl, before he quietly started to clean up Maxwell's wrist where the bleeding had finally stopped. Maxwell watched his work just as quietly. For a while there were no words spoken, no looks given, not a single interaction outside of the hands that cared for the injured one.

Wilson started to bandage the cut, pulling the sides close and letting the poultice stick them together under the healing bandage. He sighed deep.

"Maxwell. Promise me you won't do this again." his quiet request was met with silence. The silence that spoke louder words to him than any actual answer would.

"I'm worthless. You shouldn't care about this."

Wilson was starting to get angry, but he could connect it to the feeling of helplessness before this situation, the incapability of making Maxwell feel better. He closed his eyes for a short moment. Breathe in, breathe out. Be strong, for both of you.

"I do care about this. I do care about you." He gave Maxwell a half-smile, furrowing his brows together in desperation. Oh, how much he had begun to care about that old stubborn idiot. How much he had begun to crave his touch. How much warmth suddenly sparked inside his chest when he would see him smile for the shortest of moments.

This is not what he wanted for Maxwell, this was not what he would want for anyone.

Maxwell shook his head slightly.

"What about when the portal is finished." It wasn't quite a question, not really. More like a statement that's second part was left unsaid. Wilson tilted his head, confused.

"What about it? If it works, we're getting out of here. Isn't that why we're building it?"

A small smile tug Maxwell's lips again, even less joyfully than before.

"You will leave. You will go home and destroy the portal." Maxwell was starting to sound frantic, frightened "You won't want me there with you, you will leave me. And I have paid my dept to you. On Earth, you can only die once. That will be the last one I will do." Maxwell rose his arms up again, and Wilson pushed them down, disgusted to see the dark lines and hurt to hear what Maxwell thought about him. He reminded himself that Maxwell was not fine right now, that Maxwell was ill. That he was dancing on the line of mental instability, and Wilson shouldn't be offended because he probably didn't actually mean what he said.

But the fear in his voice was real. Oh, so real, and his voice was so sure. So sure that Wilson would leave him in a heartbeat when given a chance, like it was obvious, like there was no doubt that it was going to happen.

"I didn't struggle my way through your game and set you free from that horrible throne to leave you here alone, did I?" he carefully started to stroke Maxwell's hair, afraid that he would turn to dust from his touch, so feeble and fragile he looked right now.

"You won't need me anymore. You'll throw me away." Maxwell stated, looking away.

"You are right, I don't really need you. I have never needed you to survive." He could see Maxwell's shoulders tense up in attempt to hide his hurt, perhaps to fight back the tears he was clearly holding in "But that doesn't mean I don't want you. I care about you, a lot." Wilson comforted him, pulling the fur blanket around his friend and wrapping his arms over his thin figure.

"It's going to be okay. You will see, I will be with you."

Maxwell took in a sharp breath, shaky and filled with suppressed grief.

"How can I make this up to you? Just tell me, I will do it, I will do anything at all if-"

"No, Max. I just want you to calm down and be right here with me. That will be enough for me. That will be all I ask of you."

Wilson felt Maxwell relaxing and falling to lean on him. The man had closed his eyes, snuggling closer to the smaller frame of his companion. Wilson kept stroking his hair slowly, humming comfortingly to his ear.

Eventually Maxwell's breaths started to calm down and grew slower, until he started to quietly snore inside Wilson's arms. Wilson closed his eyes as well and listened that low purring sound. He'd keep this injured, imprisoned tiger safe from now on. He couldn't wash away his stripes, but he'd care for them. He'd be right here, as long as he was needed, making sure there would never be a day when Maxwell would grow the 614th stripe.


End file.
